


Changing His Tune

by Zoya1416



Series: THE PATRICIAN'S BABY [5]
Category: Discworld - Terry Pratchett
Genre: Gen, boarding schools
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-15
Updated: 2014-05-31
Packaged: 2018-01-24 21:39:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,171
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1617980
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zoya1416/pseuds/Zoya1416
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Robert Vetinari is 10 1/2, and will start at the Assassin's Guild the next term. Vetinari has some concerns. A short interlude.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> It's all Pratchett's--Robbie is mine.

Lord Vetinari smoothly closed the Assassins' Guild School Prospectus and tapped it on his desk. He didn't bother to take off his spectacles, which he now wore openly, but crossed to his high window to look out upon the city. The Assassins' Guild was there, across Widdershins Broadway, its bright and airy construction visible at all times, disguising its true dark nature. Because he knew what the guild was really like, he wanted Robbie to attend as a day boarder the first year. 

It would take only moments for Robbie to cross the street with his Golem Pete, and then pop into their quarters next to the Oblong Office. Downey had protested and huffed a little, but he stood his ground. One more year of seasoning with him, one more year where he could review the day's progress with his son--one more year of reading to a child who could read well but still enjoyed his father's attention. 

But that damned prospectus. He scowled at it, lying limp on the empty desk. He knew, in a way, that day boarders usually didn't cross over--he couldn't remember any of his classmates having started out on that side. But Dr. Downey carefully parsed the numbers in the prospectus, so many children--girls now too!--per year, per house, describing the drastic reduction in numbers as students left after general studies, or stayed to Take Black. Day Boarders, it explained, were in no way guaranteed admission to the full School, only as numbers allowed. And Lord Downey would probably take it out on him through Robbie, and never let him board.

If he didn't ever board, the late night edificeering courses would be onerous. The students would finish at 11 pm or so, and it would take Robbie another half hour or more to get settled in his bed. Then up at 6 AM, with classes starting at eight, and he could get Robbie over there with no problems. But he'd miss the pre-class time of informal verbal sparring with his classmates, quick races and chases, posturing, and giving noogies, the principles of honor and status testing all young males shared. If he couldn't ever transfer over--

This year Robbie was attending the Sitwell My Friends, a school for privileged youngsters. They'd be off to secondary schools next year, some to the Assassins' or to Quirm College for Young Ladies, the two most prominent schools on the Disc, other to lesser but still highly selective institutions. 

He made up his mind. Now to tell Lord Downey what he wanted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This work is associated with/occurs at the same time as my "The Bloody Black Bastards."  
> http://archiveofourown.org/works/1618109  
> On the randomness of creation: I pulled "ankla" and "durban" out of the air--later looked up Wikipedia refs.'  
> "Ankla" means anchor, as in something that weighs you down, and "Durban" can refer to an apparently nice tourist town in South Africa, or to "durban poison," which apparently is a super-duper form of sativa "sure to impress the most jaded pot smoker." As Carrot said, there's only so many syllables in the world.  
> Now I am thinking about Durban getting caught at the Assassin's Guild--hmm.  
> Series this work belongs to:


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Robert Vetinari is 10 1/2, and will start at the Assassin's Guild the next term. Vetinari has some concerns. A short interlude.  
> Notes:  
> It's all Pratchett's--Robbie is mine.

Lord Downey didn't believe it.

“A day-pupil? At the Assassin's Guild? You can't be serious, Havelock. It's just not done.” 

They were meeting in the Assassin Guild leader's office which was large, airy, and bright, in distinction to the Fool's Guild next door where the offices and dormers were dark and claustrophobic. A soft summer breeze stirred the curtains.

The Patrician gritted his teeth and repeated, “I want Robert to be a day-pupil for this year. Possibly the next.” He wasn't going to explain it to a life-long enemy. He could barely explain it to himself. He'd never had a choice, having no family besides his aunt. He was glad to get to a place where there were other boys, even if there were discomforts, fights, grudges. But a Patrician's child needed more seasoning before going up against a full school—more maturity, more time for him to mold his child's mind, the last time for him to protect Robbie from the world. Not protect, exactly, but educate as how to judge the boys, how to toughen his mind, how to—guard against flatterers, those who would co-opt him. He'd been shocked at his own decision, but he wasn't going back. 

The Assassins' Guild head, a kindly-looking distinguished gentleman with soft white hair, blustered on:

“It's not what people of our sort do. Yes, we do have day houses--

Three of them. With a fourth coming, I hear."

"Some of the newer money, certainly, but not us. He won't get the full experience he needs.”

“The full experience such as you provided, perhaps?”

Lord Downey had been a large and unpleasant bully. He'd played a number of tricks on the smaller, weaker boy. These stopped after a certain episode with tiger-striped paint to Downey's face. 

“But to meet the right people”—

Vetinari laughed, something else that shocked Downey almost as much as this request. He could hardly ever remember Vetinari smiling, even after the tiger-painting. Certainly he'd never heard him laugh before. Man's getting soft, he thought. 

“Robert has been meeting all the right people since he was three years old. You know Ankla and Durban were there yesterday. I believe Ankla knocked him down, but later Robert threw what seems to have been a well-ripened dung ball. He has quite a good aim. Durban seems to especially enjoy playing with Lacy von Lipwig-Dearheart.”

Lord Downey glowered, but Vetinari went on. “Of course, if you think that's a bad experience, you have only to tell me, and I won't invite them anymore.”

“Damn it, Havelock, it's not the same. And you don't invite all the right people anyway. I don't think any of the Rusts or Selachiis have ever been over, except for the birthday.”

“No, I don't think they have,” Vetinari said evenly. He smiled, showing teeth.

Lord Downey sputtered. “What will you do if I refuse this request?”

“You know, it hadn't occurred to me that you would refuse.”

There was something in the cool response which reminded Lord Downey that the Patrician possessed something even more terrifying than the reputed scorpion pit—a tax office. Moist von Lipwig had succeeded to its leadership two months earlier and was, as a cruder Guild leader had pronounced, happier than a pig in a very happy place. He changed his mind about Vetinari's getting soft.

“Very well. It's the second such unexpected request I've had this week. I hope it's not the start of a trend. You won't get out cheap, you know. You'll pay the full tuition.”

“I hadn't thought about anything less. Who made the first request?”

But here Lord Downey puffed out his chest. “Oh, that's confidential. You can probably figure it out.”

He didn't have to think about it, he knew. 

“Please let me know the books he needs. And his teachers.”

“He'll have the same teachers as anyone else. Don't think you can intimidate them.”

“Oh? I hadn't thought about intimidating anyone. I only want the names.”

“Yes, your lordship.”

They glared at each other. When Vetinari crossed Widdershins Broadway to the Palace he was grinning inside. He didn't want the names. It was only a cheap shot, really, but Downey had played so many on him. He wanted the man to keep his extra-large ears opened for any sounds of harassment of Robbie. Terrible, terrible, of him, but if you didn't have a scorpion pit anymore, you had to take your fun when you could get it.

**Author's Note:**

> This work is associated with/occurs at the same time as my "The Bloody Black Bastards."
> 
> http://archiveofourown.org/works/1618109
> 
> On the randomness of creation: I pulled "ankla" and "durban" out of the air--later looked up Wikipedia refs.'  
> "Ankla" means anchor, as in something that weighs you down, and "Durban" can refer to an apparently nice tourist town in South Africa, or to "durban poison," which apparently is a super-duper form of sativa "sure to impress the most jaded pot smoker." As Carrot said, there's only so many syllables in the world.
> 
> Now I am thinking about Durban getting caught at the Assassin's Guild--hmm.


End file.
